


Disconnect

by azziria



Series: The Overturning Moment [3]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azziria/pseuds/azziria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no data on the effects of being pregnant on the male psyche</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disconnect

**Author's Note:**

> The next installment in my _Overturning Moment_ series. Comes after [Parasite](http://archiveofourown.org/works/226529), and it’s probably best if you’ve read that first. Be warned - not a fic for you if you’re someone who thinks that having a baby is always a wonderful experience.

_‘Disconnect: (Noun) A discrepancy or lack of connection; (Verb) To break the connection of or between.’_

They nearly lose Steve on the operating table.

Delivering the baby—delivering _Jack_ —was relatively straightforward, the surgeon tells Danny, but detaching the placenta was another matter. Steve lost a lot of blood, arrested twice, but they pulled him through and with rest and the right care there should be no serious lasting physical damage. Danny wants to kiss the surgeon, right there in the hospital corridor, feels some of the weight he’s been carrying lift. Steve’s made it through, and he’s going to be OK.

“They’re taking Commander McGarrett down to ICU now. He’ll be unconscious for a while yet, so if you want to go and see the baby you’ve got time before he comes around.” And yes, of course Danny _wants_ to, he heads on down to NICU to meet his son with a spring in his step.

Jack’s in an incubator, but that’s a precaution, they tell him, because he’s four weeks premature. He’s breathing fine, his lungs are mature enough and his Apgar’s good. There’s no cause for concern. A perfectly normal, healthy baby boy. He’s got a shock of dark hair— Steve’s coloring then—and he’s long for a newborn, Steve’s genes again. He’ll be towering over Danny by the time he’s fourteen or so and Danny mentally resigns himself to being the shortest in his family because Gracie’s going to reach Rachel’s height, he can see that already. He looks down at the ridiculous little scrap in the incubator, the cause of so much trouble and feels his heart swell with emotion. It took a few days to really hit him with Grace, but he must be programmed for it second time around, he thinks, because he knows what he’s feeling right now.

He lingers there for a few more minutes, marveling at the perfection that is his son— _their_ son—then snaps a photo with his cellphone (to show Steve, to show his mom, to show the _world_ ) and tears himself away. He wants to be there when Steve comes to.

Steve’s still unconscious, still hooked up to a fuckload of machines, but the nurse tells him that he’s OK, it’s mostly for monitoring purposes and pain relief, nothing more. “He’ll be coming around soon and once I’ve checked him over you can go in and see him,” she says gently, her eyes kind and then “Have you been to see the baby yet?” And Danny can’t help himself, he can feel how wide his grin is, “Yes, yes I have, and he’s beautiful”. The nurse smiles back at him, “Of course he is,” she says and then more seriously, “I wish you well, all three of you... it can’t have been easy...”

And no, Danny thinks, it’s not been easy. He thinks about Steve gradually closing himself off from everyone, becoming more and more withdrawn until Danny couldn’t seem to reach him anymore. He remembers the day with the knives, how Steve frightened him so much that he thought maybe he should talk to the doctor about Steve’s mental state, but he knows that Steve would never have forgiven him if he’d done that. He thinks about his own pathetically ineffectual efforts to reassure Steve and how desperately he’d clung to the idea that surely everything would be OK once the baby arrived, once Steve was safely through the surgery.

He’s pretty sure he knows why Steve’s done this, that it’s all been for him and the enormity of that still stuns him. He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to repay the debt that he owes him.

But Steve survived the surgery in good shape, he’s going to be OK and their son is _perfect_. Danny has another chance, a chance to make things right, a chance for them to be the family that Steve deserves. He can give Steve that at least.

Danny looks at his partner, lying there unconscious in the ICU and thinks that he’s never loved him as much as he does now.

* * * * *

  


Steve comes to and for a moment he’s not sure where he is. The ceiling’s white, the lighting’s strange and the air has a slight chemical smell. Not the safe house then or the beach house. He tries to move his arm but it’s attached to something and turning his head he can see tubing, a machine of some sort and OK, he’s in a hospital, he must have had an accident and where’s Danny, he must be here somewhere, was he hurt too?

He closes his eyes again, the light is too bright for him and he lays there trying to piece together what happened. His mind is hazy, painkillers, he thinks, but despite them he can feel a deep throb of hurt low in his belly and that’s it, of course, he came here for them to deliver the baby.

The baby. His other arm is free of lines, so he slides that hand under the sheet and runs his fingers down his torso and across his abdomen until they reach the edge of the dressing stuck there. His belly’s flat, flabby to the touch but flat, the baby’s gone, it’s out of him and he lets his head drop back against the pillow and huffs a sigh of relief. It’s out, it’s gone, he can get back to normal again. He lets himself assimilate that fact then summons his thoughts and takes stock. He can move his arms, he knows that already. He tries to move his legs, winces at the sharp stab of pain as his stomach muscles tense, but he can bend his knees, flex his ankles, feel his toes, so he’ll have mobility at least, whatever other damage he’s sustained, and that’s good. For the first time in _months_ he feels something like a surge of hope.

“Commander McGarrett?” A woman has appeared at his side, a nurse from her uniform. “Good to see you’re with us again, you gave us a bit of a fright back there.” She bends over him, checking his lines, straightens up to look at the machines by the bed. “Everything’s fine now though and the baby’s fine, too.”

The baby. He hasn’t even thought about the baby, except to be glad that it’s gone.

“Your partner’s here, he’s waiting to see you. Shall I let him in?”

His partner. Danny. Danny, who must have been so worried about him, worried about the baby. He nods at her and she smiles at him, moves out of his line of sight and then Danny’s there in her place. Danny, who has dark circles of tiredness under his eyes, hair tousled every which way and who is wearing a tie (seriously?) and the biggest fucking grin Steve’s ever seen.

“Hey, babe.” Danny takes his hand, carefully, like he might break, voice full of affection and overwhelming emotion. “You did it, you _fucking_ did it. It’s a boy, Steve, a beautiful boy and he’s _perfect_.” And he’s not sure, but those might just be tears glinting in the corners of Danny’s eyes, despite the grin, and there’s a complicated twist in his gut, because he’s done this, he’s done this for Danny, he’s given him this thing that he wanted most in all the world, made him look this happy, and yet...

Now that Danny’s got what he wanted, where does that leave Steve?

* * * * *

They move him to a private room, which is better, because he can be alone, but also worse, because they want to bring the baby to him and he’s not sure he’s ready for that.

“You’ve got to meet him, babe, meet him properly,” Danny says, “Our son, Steve, and he’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful you wouldn’t believe it.”

Danny goes away, and comes back carrying something wrapped in a blanket, something small that moves and makes a strange mewling noise, something that Danny holds with a reverence that says it’s the most delicate and precious thing in the world. “Here he is,” he says, “Jack McGarrett-Williams, meet your dad. Your other dad,” and before Steve can say anything, before Steve can stop him, he’s placing the bundle in Steve’s arms and oh fuck, no, he’s so not ready for this.

His _son_. The word feels alien in his mind and sounds strange on his tongue. This creature, this screwed-up little red thing, surely this can’t be what was inside him for all of those months. He looks up at Danny, sees his look of hopeless adoration as he gazes down at the scrunched-up little face and he doesn’t get it. It’s just a baby, after all, not the second fucking coming and yet Danny’s acting like a crazy person, they all are.

Sometime’s he’s sure he’s the only sane one left and there’s a thought.

The thing in his arms squirms, screws up its face and opens a toothless mouth to utter a thin, squeaky wail. He feels panic building inside him and holds the bundle up to Danny, trying not to let him see how much his hands are shaking. “Take him, Danny, he must need feeding or something.”

Danny takes it back, cradling it tenderly and making a shushing sound that seems to calm it. “You want to give him his bottle, babe? I can go and get it...”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m tired. Take him away, Danny. I need to sleep.” He slides carefully down until he’s lying flat and turns to face the wall, closes his eyes and wills Danny to go, pretending he hasn’t seen the stricken look on Danny’s face.

He’s not sure he can do this. Facing the Taliban was so much easier.

* * * * *

"You need to give him time, Mr. Williams,” the doctor says. “He’s been through one hell of a lot, both physically and mentally and it’s going to take him some time to adjust. Plus we see this all the time in women post-partum, when hormone levels are re-adjusting fast. It’s called the baby blues, you must have heard of it.” He lays his hand on Danny’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring pat as he turns to go. “He’ll come out of it, don’t worry, he just needs some time and the support of the people who love him."

Well, he’s got that, Danny thinks, he’s got that in spades. He’s got Danny, who will never, _ever_ give up on him, whatever the clueless idiot thinks; Chin and Kono, who have become so much more than just his team through all this; Mary; Grace; even Rachel, too, in her own way. All these people who love him and care about him, and yet Danny suspects—fears—that he’s not seeing it right now.

And there’s Jack, too, a connection between them that can never be broken and Danny’s heart grows three sizes at the thought. Their son, his and Steve’s and there’s so much to look forward to together: his first smile, his first steps, his first words, all those birthdays and Thanksgivings and Christmases, Little League baseball, hell, even teaching the kid to surf because Steve’s sure to insist on that. All that and so much more, Steve has no idea and Danny can’t wait to share it all with him.

He just needs to get Steve out of here, to get him home where he belongs. To get him home where Danny can look after him and make sure he heals properly. To get him home so that they can put all this behind them and get on with being a real family at last.

They can do this, he can do this. Danny’s strong, can be strong enough for both of them, can be whatever Steve needs. He squares his shoulders, straightens his tie, fixes a smile on his face and barges into Steve’s room.

“Hey, babe, how’re you feeling this morning? You’ll never guess what Billy Kalama told me yesterday about that bastard Thompson in Internal Affairs…”

* * * * *

He wakes in a cold sweat, his heart racing and his mouth dry and his head is full of black and red and the mocking laughter of the baby as Danny carries it away down the long corridor, leaving him ripped and bleeding and alone on the operating table…

It’s a nightmare, another of those nightmares and it’s getting so that he’s afraid to sleep. He wonders what the nursing staff think, they must have noticed that he’s having these dreams, but nobody’s saying anything, so maybe this is normal after you’ve had surgery or had a baby, how would he know?

He pushes himself up the bed until he can sit propped awkwardly against the headboard. His belly hurts and his chest is tender, he feels a bead of warm liquid roll down towards his abdomen, dampness across his skin and no, not again. He runs his hand across his pecs—his breasts, he supposes he should call them right now—and feels a stab of revulsion at the sharp pleasure that spikes through him when his fingers brush his nipples. He’s lactating, producing milk that the baby will never drink and it will stop soon they tell him, but not fucking soon enough for his liking.

His breasts are swollen, his belly is flabby and striped with angry red stretch marks, his scar is starting to fucking itch, and he can’t even sleep to escape it all. Frankly, it sucks.

* * * * *

Danny comes by that afternoon, bringing the baby and Chin and Kono.

“Congratulations, boss!” Kono says, “He’s _gorgeous_ ,” and she insists on a photo of him, Danny and the baby together on the bed. Danny holds the baby and beams, while he does his best to smile and pretend that everything’s OK. Inside he feels numb and shriveled, and he wishes they’d just go away and leave him alone.

“You going to hold him, babe?” Danny asks, eyes soft and concerned, and he shakes his head, tries for normal. “Don’t want to disturb him, Danny, he looks pretty comfortable there.”

“I’ll take him,” Kono says, “Come to Auntie Kono, little Jack,” but it’s Chin who’s the real surprise, Chin who proves to have a hidden talent for winding and soothing, making it look like the easiest thing in the world. “Brothers and sisters, brah,” he says apologetically, but his face betrays his pleasure as he cradles Jack against his shoulder. “You never forget how.”

“They say I can take Jack home on Friday,” Danny tells him. “Alana’s already started work, she’s helping me to get everything ready,” and he runs on into a long and involved Danny-rant about how he’ll never work out the degrees of separation, really, it’s worse than the Jersey crime families, but he’s glad to have someone who’s near-as-damnit family looking after Jack. Chin and Kono smile, it’s more than just indulgence because Alana is indeed related to both of them via some obscure chain of cousins that even he struggles to understand and they both like her.

“We’ve got it all sorted, babe,” Danny says, “You just focus on getting better, we’ll get you out of here and get you home as soon as we can, that’s a promise.”

Home. But the baby will be there and Alana and he looks at Jack, looks at the expression on Danny’s face as he holds him, looks at his body language and the happy smiles of the others and he doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t fucking get it.

He’s on the outside looking in, and he doesn’t fucking well get it.

* * * * *

“Can I have a word, doc?”

The doctor’s at his at his desk, obviously busy with something, but he looks up and smiles a smile of professional welcome as Danny pushes at his door.

“Of course, Mr. Williams, come right in. Take a seat. What can I do for you?”

Danny’s not sure where to start, really, but it’s too important _not_ to say something. The truth is he’s worried, really worried, because whatever the doc’s reassurances about the baby blues, Steve’s mental state seems to be getting worse, not better. Danny knows that Steve’s always been kind of stunted about showing his emotions (and yeah, Danny’s all too familiar with the stoic ‘I’m-not-showing-my-epic-manpain-because-I-don’t-want-to-be-a-burden’ thing that Steve has going on), but this… Steve won’t hold Jack, he won’t even _look_ at him, it’s like he wishes he didn’t exist. And OK, Danny’s struggling here, because he can’t imagine anyone not wanting to look at Jack, he’s one of the most beautiful things Danny’s ever seen (far better looking than any of the other babies in here, not that he’s biased or anything, he’s just saying...). Danny could look at Jack for hours, has done so a lot over the last few days since he brought him home, late at night when the world is sleeping and it’s just him and Jack alone in the house. So the fact that Steve won’t even _look_ at his son… their son… hurts. And surely that can’t be normal, can it?

The doc listens gravely then puts his pen down, pushes the notes he’s been working on away from him and leans forward, a serious expression on his face. “I’ll be completely honest with you, Mr. Williams, Commander McGarrett isn’t recovering as quickly as we’d like. But you have to understand that this is new ground. We have no data on the effect of pregnancy on the male psyche; as far as we know, Commander McGarrett is the first case on record of a human male carrying a fetus to term. So we’re all flying blind here.”

“So what can we do? I want him home, doc, I don’t think being here’s helping. Maybe if he’s home, if he’s around Jack more, has a chance to get used to him…”

The doc gives Danny a long look, like he’s coming to a decision. “To be frank, I don’t think that that’s what Commander McGarrett needs. I agree with you that being here isn’t helping with his mental state, but I don’t think that sending him home where he’ll be unsupervised is such a good idea either. I think maybe you should consider whether Commander McGarrett might not be better off spending some time in one of our psychiatric institutions, somewhere where the staff has the training and experience to handle someone in his… condition.”

Danny’s reeling from that like a punch to the gut, shaking his head in denial, because Steve’s not crazy (somewhat reckless and given to momentary bouts of insanity in the line of duty, maybe, but not certifiable, whatever Danny tells him). “He’d never agree to that and you can’t do that without his permission…”

“You’re right, we can’t. Unless…” and the doc’s looking very, very serious now, “Has he ever shown any signs of being a danger to himself or to others? Because if he has then we might have grounds for a committal. In his own best interests, you understand.”

“No, nothing like that, he’s never…” and that would be funny, really, given how Steve throws himself into dangerous situations on an almost daily basis… but then an icy wave of nausea hits Danny, curling in his stomach and rising in his throat, because he suddenly remembers that day in the kitchen, that day with the knives, and the bright smear of blood soaking through Steve’s shirt. And he remembers the look in Steve’s eyes as he begged Danny to lock the knives away, and oh fuck…

Danny has no idea what to do.

* * * * *

Things get a bit better once the baby leaves the hospital, because Danny stops dropping by at odd moments to see it. It means that he knows when Danny’s going to visit, he can prepare himself, paste on a smile and try to act like everything’s fine.

He still can’t bring himself to touch the baby, though. It occurs to him that he has no way of knowing if the baby’s really what was inside him for all those months. All he knows is that the thing was in his belly, they gave him the anesthetic and then when he woke up it was gone. So how can he be _sure_ that this baby is what was in him? Logically he knows it must be—why would Danny and the doctors lie to him? And where would they get a baby on such short notice? But it would explain the disconnection he’s feeling and he wonders what was so wrong with the thing inside him that they won’t show him, won’t tell him, have had to construct this elaborate façade just to protect him from knowing. But that can’t be right, Danny loves this baby, he can see that, it must be his and this must be all in his head, his thinking’s screwed.

The nightmares are getting worse, and starting to bleed into his waking hours, the edges between wakefulness and sleep clawed ragged. He dreams of being trapped, confined, held down, while a crawling, mewling thing gnaws at his belly, sucks from his teats, smears milk and blood across his skin and all the while Danny and the others are standing there smiling at him, telling him he’s being so good, the baby’s growing so fast, he’s doing so well and he tries to scream, tries to make them hear him but they just nod approvingly…

He’s got to get a grip. These things aren’t real. It’s a baby, not a monster. In his more objective moments he knows that. But the thought of being in the house with it, being alone with it, of it watching him all the time, that alien little face and those scrawny twitching limbs… when he thinks about it he can feel the panic starting to rise in this throat.

He can’t be sure what he’ll do if he’s left alone with it. Can’t be sure he can trust himself. And that really, really scares him.

He’s beginning to understand that he’s the problem. Without him around Danny could get on with raising the baby and being happy. He doesn’t need a damaged and screwed-up partner to look after as well, an extra burden on him, something else to worry about. He’s got Alana to help him, after all and Chin and Kono, Rachel and Grace. It’s not as if he’d need Steve, anyway, even if Steve knew anything about raising a child.

It’s becoming clear to Steve that it’ll be better for everyone if he removes himself from the equation.

* * * * *

Danny comes to see him one afternoon without the baby and Steve can tell that he’s got something on his mind, despite the way he barrels into the room with a grin and a cheerful, “Hey, babe, how you feeling?” And two can play that game, so Steve paints on a smile that he hopes doesn’t look too much like a rictus and says, “Yeah, I’m getting there, what’s up?”

Danny sits on the edge of the bed and fumbles for his hand. His eyes are clouded and his grin is faltering and oh no, this can’t be good.

When he speaks his voice is unnaturally quiet. “The doc thinks… the doc thinks that you shouldn’t come home yet. He thinks that you should go talk to someone.” He’s looking down at Steve’s hand in his, deliberately not meeting his eyes.

Steve swallows. “And what do you think?”

Danny’s grip on his hand tightens and he’s still not looking at Steve. “I think that I want you to come home with me. But I also think… that the doc might be right. It might help you. That we should consider it.”

So that’s it, then. They think he’s crazy—even _Danny_ thinks he’s crazy—and maybe he is, the nightmares certainly suggest it and the thoughts he’s been having about the baby, but he can handle it now, now that he’s got it all straight in his head. Danny thinks he’s lost it, thinks he needs to see a shrink, feels guilty because he doesn’t want his nutjob partner in the house with the baby. Feels guilty because he doesn’t want Steve around anymore. And that hurts, it hurts like fuck, but it’s no different from what he was expecting and it’s better to _know_. Danny’s an honorable man, he’ll never abandon Steve, but Steve’s not an idiot, he can see how it plays out from here. He can see how Danny’s going to be torn between his love for the baby and his duty to Steve. He can see how Danny’s going to come to resent him more and more, how he’ll have to watch the frustration and disappointment in Danny’s eyes every day and know it’s his fault because he can’t be what Danny wants, can’t _feel_ what Danny wants him to feel. He can see how Danny’s going to come to hate him and how much that’s going to fuck Danny up.

He feels strangely calm at last, now that the situation is suddenly clear to him, now that he knows what he has to do. He’s come this far for Danny, done this much, he can do this one last thing for him. He can set him free.

He needs a plan. But first he needs to gain himself some time because once the shrinks get their hands on him he’s done for. He’s not stupid, if he gives in too easily Danny will suspect something, so he pulls his hand away and scowls. “M’not crazy, Danny. I don’t need to see a shrink, I just need to rest.” And Danny buys it, grudgingly and still looking worried, but he buys it. “OK, babe. But promise me you’ll think about it, yeah?”

He adopts his best ‘let’s humor Danny’ face, with just a hint of the annoyed stubbornness he knows Danny will expect. “OK, I’ll think about it. Satisfied?”

And apparently Danny is.

* * * * *

Danny swings the Camaro into one of the few remaining spaces in the hospital parking lot and cuts the engine. He’s got a nagging headache, barely-there but persistent, courtesy of a combination of lack of sleep and too much coffee, but then a new baby and a partner balancing on the edge of sanity don’t exactly make for the most stress-free life, so what does he expect? At least he’s come to a decision now, after several days of everything going around and around in his head, he knows what needs to happen, he should have listened to his gut all along. He’s getting Steve out of here, whatever the doctors say. If Steve needs to see a shrink then he can do it from the security of his own home, where he’s got Danny to keep an eye on things and remind him that he’s loved and wanted and that it’s all going to work out OK. Stopping McGarrett from freaking out has been one of his main responsibilities pretty much right from the start of their partnership after all and maybe he hasn’t been doing that job quite so well recently, but all that’s going to change right now.

And Steve’s seemed better these last few days, brighter in himself. He’s still having the nightmares, the nurses say, but when he’s awake he’s tracking better and he seems calmer and less worried, even if he won’t hold Jack yet. He even made Danny bring him in some clothes, track pants and t-shirts, not hospital issue and he demanded his phone, muttering something about Angry Birds and airplane mode when Danny called him on the inadvisability of thinking he could start phoning the office and interfering with casework. And all that has to be a good sign, right?

So his heart and his steps are light as he heads along the corridor to Steve’s room, clarity of purpose buoying him up. He’s taking Steve home, he’s going to make him pizza (and he’ll even put pineapple on it if Steve really insists) and then he’s going to curl up with him in their own bed and just _hold_ him until the nightmares go away. It’s the best sort of plan, simple and straightforward and Danny’s optimistic that it’ll work. He is a Williams, after all and that means a force to be reckoned with.

For a moment he thinks he’s walked into the wrong room. The bed’s empty, stripped of its sheets and blankets and the side table is bare. Confused, he checks the number on the door and yes, this is Steve’s room. Maybe they’ve moved him or maybe he’s just gone for some tests or physical therapy or something. He moves around the bed to check the drawer in the bedside table, but it’s empty, too and now he’s starting to feel a bit worried, something’s happened and why has no-one called him? He needs to find someone to ask, but as he turns to leave he spots something on the floor under the bed, something white. He picks it up, turns it over, and sees that it’s a photo, the photo Kono took of the three of them, him and Steve and Jack sitting on the bed together, and as he brushes his thumb across it he feels a cold hand start to grip his heart.

“Commander McGarrett discharged himself three hours ago,” the nurse on duty tells him. “A taxi came for him. He said he was going home, and that you were expecting him.”

Home. That’s good. Perhaps he meant to surprise Danny. But if he went home three hours ago, why hasn’t Alana called him to tell him Steve’s there?

The cold hand grips harder.

He calls Chin. Maybe Steve went to work, stubborn idiot that he is.

“He hasn’t been here, brah,” Chin says, “Anything I can do to help? Have you called Alana?”

And no, he hasn’t, he doesn’t want to worry her, but that’s where he’s headed next, Steve might be there. Alana might have gone for a walk with Jack or something which is why she hasn’t called.

He runs three red lights on the way home and only dips under the speed limit twice. Steve would be proud of him.

Steve’s not there.

* * * * *

Steve’s not anywhere. The taxi driver who was the last to see him dropped him in the middle of Honolulu and the trail goes cold right there. There’s no security camera footage of him, no other taxi picked him up and there’s no record of anyone matching his description taking a flight or a boat to the other islands or the mainland. He hasn’t been to the house, and his clothes, passport and weapons are all untouched. His cellphone turns up in a trash can close to where the taxi left him and the call log yields nothing, three calls to an untraceable number and that’s it.

None of the unidentified bodies that turn up over the next few weeks are him, either.

He’s just gone, vanished without a trace and Danny’s never, ever going to forgive himself for not seeing this coming.


End file.
